Counting the Years
by generalsleepy
Summary: Joe paid a terrible price to protect his brother. Years later, his time has run out. To save Joe, Frank will have to face the same dangerous choice. Warning for major character death and depiction of a child with cancer.


**November 2010**

The winter nights were long, and it was already dark. The moon was nearly full but blacked out by the clouds He clutched the wheel of the car in a white-knuckle grip. A dust of snow was just starting to fall. He watched as the windshield wipers swung back and forth. It was almost hypnotizing, almost enough to make him forget. Almost.

He couldn't stop his arms from shaking. His heart beat fast. Half of his mind was paralyzed by fear, screaming at him not to do what he was about to. The other half reminded him that there was no other option.

"Goodbye," he whispered to the empty car, as if he was speaking to all of the people he should have said it to.

He started the car and pulled away from the shoulder. It was already a challenge to drive straight on the snowy road.

_Goodbye. I'm sorry._

**November 2000**

Joe ran as fast as his legs would take him. His sneakers squeaked on the linoleum. He nearly threw himself against the wall avoiding a pair of nurses. He tripped, skidded, and caught himself on his hands.

"Hey!" one of them called out.

He got to his feet and kept running, hoping they would be too busy to follow after him. Nurses were always busy. They took care of patients and talked with doctors, and they didn't have the time to follow a snot-nosed, little kid who wasn't either. He ran around a corner without looking back. No one came after him.

He kept running, not keeping track of where he was going. He slowed, then stopped in the middle of an empty hallway. He'd never been to this part of the hospital before, and he didn't care. Maybe here no one would be able to find him. Panting, he pressed the heels of his shaking hands against his eyes.

Whenever they'd kicked him out of Frank's room before all he'd wanted to do was run or scream or hit something. He couldn't make any of them understand that he didn't care about school or home if his brother wasn't there. Of course they pretended that they did. The nurses and doctors tried their best to be comforting, but they didn't have any idea.

Even Mom and Dad didn't really understand. Frank was just their son; he was Joe's brother. And they were the only ones who could make the decisions. They were the only ones the doctors told the truth to.

Joe and Frank had almost never been apart. They went to the same summer camps, played the same sports, hung out with the same friends. Even though they were in separate grades, they spent every recess and lunch together, even when Frank got teased sometimes for hanging out with babies. Neither of them understood when their friends complained about sharing bedrooms with their siblings. Sure they got annoyed with each other, sometimes but being alone would be so boring.

One time, Frank was being bullied by a group of boys in his class for being a teacher's pet. One of them pushed Frank down, and Joe tackled him. The boy hit him back. Frank jumped to his feet to get the bully away from his brother. When a teacher finally broke up the fight, all the boys were bloodied, and each of them were suspended. That was the first time they got into big trouble together. They nodded and agreed when Dad told them to never get into another fight, but they both knew that they'd do the exact same thing if anyone tried to hurt the other one.

When Joe broke his leg when he was six, Frank stayed with him every second from the emergency room to the ride home. He stayed in bed with Joe for most of the six months the cast was on. Frank read aloud the first two _His Dark Materials_ books—with voices and stopping to explain every word Joe didn't understand. He helped Joe with whatever he needed. Mom and Dad joked that they'd been pushed out of a job. Frank barely let them near his patient. Joe felt a bit guilty that he was stopping Frank from playing and having fun, but then Frank always seemed happy when they were together, and Joe secretly loved the attention.

Joe's first words were "Fank" and "want." Frank's was "Joe."

Mom told them about when Joe got pneumonia at a year and a half. During the five days Joe was at the hospital, she said was the only way they could get Frank to leave without crying was to wait until he went to sleep.

Cancer wasn't like pneumonia or a broken leg, no matter how much Joe tried to tell himself.

Frank started getting sick a year ago. He was tired all the time and stopped eating much. He got dizzy a lot, and said that he hurt all over. It was like a flu, but it just kept going. Joe stayed in bed with him as much as he could, while Mom and Dad made Joe keep going to school, even when Frank couldn't. He tried to distract him with TV and video games and coaxed him into drinking the special shakes, which were sometimes the only thing he could keep down.

When they took Frank to to the doctor, they said she was going to figure out what was wrong with him and make him all better. Joe held his hand and kissed the side of his head while Frank tried not to cry, as they drew blood. Joe was sitting on the edge of the bed with Frank and Mom when the doctor told them.

She said leukemia was when something went wrong with your white blood cells that kept you from getting infections. She said that they was why Frank kept getting sick all the time. She said there were lots of ways they could make Frank better.

Joe knew she wasn't telling him and Frank as much as she told Mom and Dad. She figured they couldn't understand it. Joe got a book from the grown-up section of the library. He read it with a dictionary open at his elbow. He found out all about acute lymphoblastic leukemia, what it was and all the ways they were going to treat it. ALL had an 85% survival rate. That meant 85 people out of every hundred who got sick got better Joe clung to that number like a lifesaver or a baby with a teddy bear. Even as Frank seemed to get worse and worse, he had that.

Frank was going to be okay. Of course, he was going to be okay. Frank wasn't going to be the 15%. He wasn't allowed to be. Not his brother.

His pale skin was covered in bruises. Joe watched him get skinnier with every passing day. Joe felt like if he even touched him, he would break. His eyes were sunken, like a skeleton. The frequent fevers made his brown eyes go hazy. Joe stroked his brother's forehead, and his skin nearly burned his palm. He hated to see the tubes in his arms and in nose to help him breathe. When Frank's hair fell out, Joe asked Mom and Dad to let him shave his own head. He came to the hospital the day after, he wore a large hat and whipped it off with an "Aha!" It made him happier than anything in the world that he could make his brother laugh.

The best moment had been when the doctor told them a bone marrow transplant could help Frank. They took blood from all of them, and Joe was a match.

"You don't have to do this," Frank said, before they came to take Joe to the operating room.

"Shut up, I'm gonna do it." He smiled and held his hand a little tighter.

"Thank you." His voice was soft and croaky.

"Yeah."

"I love you, Joe."

"You too."

When he woke up after the surgery, the first thing he asked the nurse was when he could see his brother. She laughed, ruffled his hair, and said soon. His hips and back ached, and Mom had to take him to Frank's room in a wheelchair, but Frank's smile was worth anything. He wasn't helpless. He'd been able to do something to help his brother. The bad cells were out, and healthy cells were in. 85%. Frank was going to be all right.

That was two months ago. Frank only seemed to get sicker after it. Trying to stress that it wasn't Joe's fault, Dr. Benitez told them the transplant hadn't worked. Joe immediately asked if they could try again. She told him maybe, but not until Frank got a bit better. He tried to keep it together when he was with Frank. That night he screamed into his pillow, knocked all the books off of his shelf, pulled all the blankets off his bed, and punched the floor until his hands were covered in bruises.

When ever Frank was well enough, they talked and watched TV and played Gameboy. Frank laughed and smiled, but Joe could tell he was still hurting. When Frank slept – and he slept more and more – Joe watched his chest slowly rise and fall, like even that was hard from him. Joe lay in bed with him, stroking his bare head and listening to him breathe. Sometimes, he murmured something like, "It's okay. It's Joe. I'm here. I know it hurts. You're gonna be okay."

He stayed there until they made him leave, or he fell asleep and woke up at home or in a chair on the other side of the hospital room.

Today, he had been was sitting on one side of the bed, while Mom sat on the other and Dad stood. She was trying to ask him something about school. He mumbled enough answers to keep her satisfied while he kept his eyes on Frank's sleeping face and brushed his fingers from his forehead to cheek. Frank had started having seizures. When he had the first one a week ago, Joe had been the only one there. His eyes went glassy, then his body suddenly went rigid. He started thrashing back and forth. All that Joe could do was scream his brother's name, until a doctor came to help. They said they'd given him medicine to stop him from having another one. But, then he'd had one last night, worse than before, and the only thing he could do was put him to sleep.

Frank's face actually looked much calmer than it usually did when he slept, like they'd finally managed to get rid of some of the hurt.

Dr. Benitez walked in, holding her stupid clipboard to her chest. There was no hint of the disgustingly fake smile she usually wore. Joe's heart jumped to his throat.

"Hello, she said softly.

"Yes?" Mom's voice always rose to an anxious yelp when the doctor entered, like she was hoping there might be good news. Joe knew she never brought anything good.

"Joe, do you think you think you could wait outside a second, honey? I have to talk to your mom and dad about something."

Joe gritted his teeth. Every time she called him "honey" he just wanted to scream. And, once again, she didn't think he deserved to know what was happening to _his_ brother. Just because he was a little kid.

He looked down at Frank, then pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Bye," he said to his sleeping brother. He got up and walked to the door, not hiding the anger in his eyes.

He shut the door behind him, walked ten steps, then tip-toed back, so that they would think they'd heard him leave. He pressed himself to the door and looked around for witnesses. There were two nurses leaning against a wall and chatting and a woman talking to the elderly man she was pushing in a wheelchair. Holding his breath Joe, slowly, slowly turned the doorknob. Every tiny sound made him wince. Finally, with a click that sounded like a cannon going off, he pulled the door open a fraction of an inch.

He waited. Nobody came to push him out. He let out the breath he'd been holding, then pressed his ear to the crack.

"Mrs. Hardy, I know this difficult to hear. We need to reconsider our treatment goals." Dr. Benitez said in her smooth, obnoxiously gentle voice.

"What do you mean?" Mom practically yelped. "We need to keep going with whatever is helping him. The radiation therapy, chemotherapy, another transplant. There have to be things we haven't tried yet."

"Laura." Dad's voice was low and almost shaking. It sounded like he was reaching out for help.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hardy, I won't lie to you. Even with the most aggressive therapies we have available, we don't believe that Frank will survive another three months."

_No!_

"No!" Mom shouted.

That wasn't what she'd said. He'd heard her wrong.

"That last staph infection left him very weakened. His cell counts are the lowest that they've been. Now, the cancer has begun to affect his nervous system. His kidneys and liver are shutting down. His body can't take the stress of more radiation and chemo. At this point, we can best help Frank by moving into palliative care. We can make him comfortable."

Joe couldn't make out the words hidden in Mom's crying. Dad's always strong voice was shaking. "We'll – we'll need another doctor's opinion."

There was a hint of a quiver in Dr. Benitez's"I'm sorry. The rest of the oncology team has confirmed my assessment. We wouldn't tell you this if we weren't certain." She paused, while Mom continued crying, in little choking sobs. "You don't have to make any decisions now. I know you'll need some time alone. If you need me for anything, I'll be there."

He could barely make out Mom's small, quivering voice."Joe... Oh, God, Joe..."

"We have counselors on staff who can be there when you tell him. To help explain."

Joe pulled back from the door. His whole body was shaking. He buried his face in his quivering hands and shook his head. He couldn't do this, he couldn't do this, it couldn't be happening, it couldn't. No, no, no, no, no, nonononono, _no_!

He couldn't handle it. He needed to make it stop. Everything was crashing in, everything was falling apart. He needed to get away. He needed to be away.

And so he ran.

In the empty hallway, he fell back against the cold wall. His hands were still shaking. His throat was tight, and tears were starting to burn his eyes.

"Stop it." The words were dragged out in a moan. "Please. Please, stop it." He slammed his hands into his forehead, then let out a ragged cry of frustration. "Stop it!"

"Stop what?"

Joe's head snapped up. He whirled to face the source of the high-pitched voice.

At the other end of the hallway stood a girl in a yellow dress. She was about Joe's age. She had long, straight, brown hair and brown eyes. Her dress had flowers embroidered on it. She wore tights and shiny white shoes. Her hands were in her pockets. Her expression was curious.

He roughly wiped away his tears. "Nothing. Go away. Leave me alone."

"You look really sad." She took small steps towards him.

"I said go away!" The huge wave of emotions was still rushing over him. He couldn't talk to anyone, he couldn't be with anyone. Why couldn't this girl see that?

"You're also very angry. You've been crying. Something really bad must have happened."

"Leave me alone!" Joe turned to run down the corner and find somewhere even farther away and lonelier.

"Don't go, Joe."

He stopped, frozen. He turned back to her. "How do you know my name?" he demanded.

She shrugged. "I know lots of stuff. My name is Carolyn."

"What do you want?" Shivers crept up his back. The hairs on his neck and arms stood on end. He felt like he was lying in bed in a pitch black room and he'd just heard a noise under his bed.

"I want to help you."

"Help me with what?"

"I want to help your brother."

**December 2010**

"Frank."

Frank blinked. He felt like he'd been snapped out of a trance. He would rather have stayed in it.

He rolled over and looked at his father standing sideways in the doorway. Slowly, he pulled himself to a sitting position. He looked mutely up at his father.

Fenton sighed, arms crossed across his chest. "You can't keep going like this, Frank."

Frank would have argued, but he had just been lying on the floor of his brother's empty room staring at nothing for he didn't know how long. "I just like it in here." His voice felt flat to his own ears.

"You're not helping yourself." Dad's wasn't much more emotional. Authoritative and decisive instead. That pose had worked well when he was a child. Now it was hollow, when he knew Dad had no more power here than any of them.

Frank let his eyes travel aimlessly around the room. "I'm doing fine." Neither of them could believe that for a second. He shook his head. "I'm... I just need some more time." He'd heard the phrase and said it himself so often it was meaningless, but it was the easiest answer he could come up with.

"Are you sure you should be going back to school so soon?"

He shrugged. "It's not going to be easier if I wait."

A thick, uneasy silence settled over them. Frank wasn't surprised they were all reacting the way they were. Dad was circling the wagons. He took it on himself to keep everyone on their feet and under control.

Mom was a wreck, but she tried to pretend she wasn't and constantly wanted to talk. She worried about Frank closing himself off, even when she could hardly get through a conversation without crying. With an almost obsessive determination, she kept up with the housework. The house looked as cleaner than it did when relatives were coming to visit.

Aunt Gertrude was the worst: she tried to give advice. She talked about her father's death and her miscarriage he knew she'd alwasy hated to ever mention. She tried to empathize and share with him how she'd made it through her losses. Maybe he should have gotten something out of her sincere attempts, but Mom was right. He was closed off.

He felt like a robot, like he'd been completely detached from the world around him, like nothing mattered anymore.

He'd broken down when they got the call, fell against the wall, curled into a ball. Rage and grief and pure pain exploded in him. Now it felt like that had burned off and left behind a vacuum.

The car had skidded out on the ice, slammed through the barrier, and tumbled down the cliff. It flipped and crashed into a tree. Joe was pinned under the car. They weren't sure how long he was trapped there. The wolves were the first to find him. He was already bleeding heavily, already dying. His neck was torn open. A trucker saw the wreck from the road and went to investigate too late. Joe died on the scene.

He said he was going to the University to pick up some books for the class they were taking. Frank offered to go with him, but Joe said he wanted to drive around alone for a while. He had seemed a little tired. He had been for a few days and seemed a little off in general. His usual energy and joking around felt somewhat forced. Once or twice, Frank saw him jump at a sudden noise. When he asked, Joe said that he was fine, just tired. He smiled and talked about needing a vacation, and they fell into easy conversation.

Frank was a little worried and made a point to watch his back, but he understood. Only a month ago, they had finished up multiple murder case they'd ended up tangled up in, one of the victims a fifteen-year-old girl.

They worked tough cases all the time, but they still needed time to recover. He thought Joe would feel better after he took that drive to clear his head.

He was just starting to get concerned about how long Joe had been gone when they were called by the hospital.

Dad identified the body. He didn't want Frank to see it, tried to physically restrain him, on the verge of a fist fight. Frank forced his way through, though.

The body was pallid and ripped to shreds. He could barely recognize his brother's face. He held Joe's hand, and it was stiff and cold. He broke down, falling to the floor. That was the last time he had cried.

Dad was still looking down at him, brow crinkled in concern. He sighed again. "As long as you take care of yourself. Your mother sent me up here to tell you dinner is ready."

"I'll be down in just a minute. You can start eating. Tell her I'm just washing up."

"She won't let you get away with not eating."

"I'll be down." He forced what he thought was a convincing small smile. "Trust me. I'm starving."

Dad nodded. He unfolded his arms. "Frank, it's been two weeks. I'm not saying you have to move on now or any time soon. I'm not. But don't let yourself get trapped. You deserve your own life."

Frank looked down at the carpet. "Thanks, Dad."

After a few more seconds of silence, Dad said, "Be down soon." Frank heard him walk away.

He exhaled slowly, then shuffled back so he was sitting against the bed. He could remember him and Joe spending hours in this room, going over cases, reading, doing homework, playing video games, or just talking about anything and everything. Frank noticed he hardly ever spoke without Joe to talk to.

_Stop it._ He pulled his knees up to his chest and put his hands behind his head. Just for now, he needed to put on a face, go through the motions, act like he was still a functioning human being. He couldn't do that if he was lost in memories.

After about a minute of centering himself, he was read to go downstairs.

Mom, Dad, and Aunt Gertrude were already eating their green bean casserole. Mom smiled at him as he took his seat, a warm smile she seemed to be trying as hard as she could to make genuinely happy. "Hello, Frank. I haven't seen you today."

"I'm sorry." She already had a plate set up for him. He hadn't eaten since yesterday's dinner, and as he picked up his fork his stomach reminded him of it.

"It's no problem, honey. I just like to know you're okay."

Gertrude was looking similarly deliberately pleasant, more than she was when she was just being herself. Dad just monitored the conversation.

"Are you looking forward to school on Monday?" Mom said.

He nodded as he swallowed a bite. "Uh-huh. I've got everything worked out with Principal Hue."

"That's good. And your friends? Are you looking forward to spending time with them?"

"Yeah," he lied. He hadn't seen Chet, Tony, and everyone else much in the past few weeks. They'd been at the funeral, and a few had come over to check in on him, on their own or with their families bringing over dinners. Iola broke down sobbing at the kitchen table once. All that Frank could do was touch her back. He didn't want to hug her. He didn't want to try to talk about anything serious. He felt like he was watching her on a TV screen.

A part of Frank was reassured to see them, to know that some of the people he cared about were still out there, but every interaction was stilted. They could tell how hollow everything he said was. Thankfully, they also took his lead in talking about Joe as little as possible.

He tried to think about himself a year from now, two, three years. Sitting at the table, going to school, doing all of the things he had done before. He couldn't picture anything changing. The world kept spinning while he was in suspended animation.

He wasn't sure that he was even the same person that had been there before.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Mom said, putting down her fork. You got a letter today, from someone named Slim Robinson from New York. Isn't he a friend of yours?"

Frank jerked out of his masochistic revery. "He used to live in Bayport. We've helped him out on a case a while ago, before moved." _We_ . That one careless word was the closest he had come to saying Joe's name out loud. He felt like a weight that had dropped in his chest.

Mom's face dropped, and he could tell she knew exactly what he was feeling. As usual, she forced the smile back on. "Well, it's on the kitchen counter."

"Thanks." He hoped Slim hadn't sent condolences. He would probably just throw away the letter and pretend he hadn't received it, like he had messages from other out-of-town friends and acquaintances.

He finished dinner quickly, only half-paying attention to the empty conversation the other three were forcing themselves to carry on. "May I be excused?" he said, already pushing back his chair.

"There's dessert," Mom said. "Brownies."

"No, thank you."

"Okay. I'll save you some."

"Thanks. I'm headed off to bed. Good night." Dad caught his eyes as he was standing up. Without him saying anything, Frank could tell he was warning him not go back to brooding. Frank nodded quickly, trying to keep his expression light, as if he really was just going to get some sleep. With how little he'd been able to sleep lately, he must have looked like he needed it.

He stopped in the kitchen and picked up the letter lying face down on the counter, before walking up the stairs. He went to his own room this time. He went to Joe's room to wallow in grief. He wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else if he was there. He locked the door behind him and dropped into the chair at his desk. He glanced at the front of the envelope as he started to open it.

He froze. His pulse picked up, and his breath caught hard in his throat.

He knew the handwriting on the envelope. _He knew it_. He'd made a point of learning to recognize it perfectly, But, he knew he could never see it here. Anywhere like this.

_Frank Hardy_

_23 High St._

_Bayport, NJ_

The handwriting was Joe's.

It was squat and messy, sloping slightly upward at the end of each word. It was written slower and more carefully than he usually did, but Frank was still sure it was his. They'd learned each others handwriting so that they could alter it if they were ever being forced to write something against their will. Every little quirk matched what he had memorized.

His hands were shaking. He shoved them through his hair and screwed his eyes shut. It didn't matter what he'd memorized. He couldn't trust what he was seeing, because there was no way that this was Joe's handwriting, because Joe was gone. He remembered the hope he'd struggled to feel when he first got the call. A stupid, childish part of him believed that it was a mistake, that the doctors would walk into the operating room and realize that Joe was alive and save him. That belief was only properly crushed when the doctor spoke to them face-to-face. He wouldn't let himself feel that hope again, not here or ever again, because he knew his sanity wouldn't survive losing it again.

His hand shook as he opened the letter. He tried to tear one neat line at the top but ended up ripping apart the whole envelope. He pulled out a stack of folded notebook paper. Unfolding it, he saw it was four sheets, printed on back and front in blue ink.

He found the first page and read the first line. His heart stopped.

_Dear Frank,_

It was the same handwriting. While he was still stunned, he read the second. He put his hands over his eyes as he struggled to breathe. An,"Oh, God," was dragged out of him. Then, he couldn't keep his eyes from the paper. He needed to read it. He needed to know if it was true. I couldn't be. It couldn't, it couldn't, it couldn't.

But.

_This is Joe. I'm sorry. I know when you're reading this, I've died. I gave this letter to Slim a while ago and told him to mail it to you on a specific day._

_I've done something horrible, and I've hurt you, and I'm so sorry. You deserve to know everything that happened. Maybe you'll understand why I did it, but I want you to know the whole time that I know what I did was wrong._

_So, I guess I'll just start at the beginning and just spell it all out. I'll give you all the details I can remember, and I can remember almost all of them. It was December 17, 2000. You were in the hospital, and I overheard Mom and Dad and the doctors saying that you weren't doing well. They said you had 3 months. I was walked down the halls, and I was angry and sad, and I didn't know what to do. There was no one else around. And then I saw this little girl._

**December 2000**

Joe's fists clenched. His voice was louder and more high-pitched than he meant it to be. "What are you talking about?"

"Your brother, Frank." She was still walking towards him. He could hear each of her soft footsteps. "He's sick. He's dying. That's why you're so upset."

Joe's heart pounded as he wracked his brains, trying to remember if he had seen this girl in the hospital before. That had to be where she was from, if she knew about him and Frank. She looked too healthy to be a patient in the pediatric cancer ward. Maybe she had a brother or sister there, or maybe one of her parents was a doctor or nurse. He couldn't remember the face, but then, he hadn't paid much attention to anything outside of Frank's room.

He struggled to keep his voice calm. "Who are you? How are you supposed to help Frank or me?"

Carolyn stopped, close enough for him to make out each of the freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. Her expression was calm and serious, but with an infuriating glint in her eyes, like she knew she had something up on him. "The doctors told you it was hopeless, right? They told you that he was going to die, and nobody could do anything Well, they're wrong. They don't know about me. They don't know what I can do."

Joe's mouth was dry. "Who are you? he repeated.

"I don't think you'll believe me, Joe."

"Tell me."

A smile curled her lips. "I'm a demon. I've come from Hell to grant your wish."

He just stared at her for a moment, trying to make sense of what she'd said. When he was sure that he'd heard what he thought he had, his anger bubbled up again. "Shut up. This isn't a joke. My brother..." He couldn't finish that sentence. He couldn't hold that idea, that Frankcouldn't be helped, in his head without everything cracking around it. "Just stop."

She shook her head. "I'm not lying. That's really what I am. Do you believe in Hell, Joe? Do believe in demons?"

"No." He only went to church, in the hospital chapel or their old church in Bayport, when Mom and Dad made him or when Frank was feeling good enough to come with. He wasn't going to waste time away from Frank, when he knew that God wasn't going to help him. He had to have prayed more than anyone in the world, and Frank only got worse. He wasn't going to keep trying the same thing that wasn't working.

"Well, you're wrong. Hell is real, and it is very interested in you." He opened his mouth, but she held up a finger. "I know. You want me to prove it."

"Yeah, why don't you give that a try," he challenged. _Calm down, Joe_, he could hear Frank saying. Frank had always been there to calm him down, Frank stopped him from getting himself into trouble, Frank could make him see things clearly. This would make sense if Frank was there. He would know what to do. Joe wouldn't be shaking.

"Okay. Hold on." She closed her eyes. They opened, and her eyes were entirely firey red.

The lights went out with a snap.

Joe couldn't stop a yelp of alarm. "What—!"

Before he could finish, a burst of light forced him to shut his eyes. When he opened them, his jaw fell open. There was a ring of fire on the ceiling, circling Carolyn. Joe was frozen, unable to do anything but stare in shock. She looked at him with a small, satisfied smile. "What do you think?" She put her hand back in her pocket, and then, in a blink, she was gone.

"Is this convincing?"

Joe spun around. Carolyn stood behind him, looking just the same. Instinctively, he through a fist at her. Before it could connect, she disappeared again. Instantly, she was beside him. "Joe?"

"Stop it!" he shouted.

"Okay."

The fire went out, leaving him in the dark. The lights snapped back on. Carolyn was back to her original place. Her eyes were raised. "So?"

His heart thudded. He tried to keep his voice from shaking. "What are you?"

"I told you, Joe. I'm a demon." She took a step forward. Joe immediately shuffled back.

"Okay. So, what's a demon?"

She shrugged. "It's kind of complicated. All you need to know is that we've existed as long as you have, and we have incredible powers. Like the power to save your brother's life."

"How? How can you save him!?" Maybe he was going crazy, maybe he was dreaming, whatever. But if someone even mentioned helping Frank, he had to take that chance.

"I told you. We're very powerful." She took her hands out of her pockets and clasped them in front of her. "I can make your brother's cancer go away in a second. I can heal his body. To the doctors, it'll look like a miracle. And that's basically what it'll be."

_Make him better in a second._ Just the idea pushed every other thought out of his mind. "You can do that?"

She smiled. "Mhm."

"How?" One thing managed to niggle through. What his father had pounded into him and Frank. The most important thing they'd learned about being detectives. "Why?"

"You don't need to know about how. You wouldn't really understand anyway. But..." She pursed her lips with a sympathetic look. "Yeah, I'm sorry, there's something you're going to have to do for me in return."

_Anything_ . "What?"

"I'm not going to lie. It's really big. Really, really, really big."

"What is it?"

"If I save your brother's life, I'll have to take yours."

Joe's voice caught in his throat. Seconds passed, and the only sounds were his breathing and the buzz of the fluorescent lights. He swallowed. "You mean, I have to die."

She nodded sadly. "Yeah. But, not now. In ten years. I'll come back to get you. I'll take you to where I'm from. But, your brother will be healthy and live a full long life. You'll have ten years more to spend with him. How does that sound?"

Dying. Being gone forever. Forever. Nothing. The idea was like a dark, cold stone in the pit of his stomach. And, no matter how horrible that was, it couldn't change the excitement racing through him. _She can make him better. Frank is going to be okay. He's not going to die._

_He's going to be okay._

"Yes," he whispered.

Her eyes widened. "Yes? You want to do it?"

"I want to save Frank. I don't care about anything else."

"Really." There was a hint of amazement in her voice. "You made your decision that quickly. You must really love him."

"Just make him better," Joe said, his voice rising. "That's all I care about."

"Do you understand what this means? You're going to die. Are you willing to die for your brother?"

"Yeah." He paused and took a deep breath. "Of course."

"Well, if you're sure, then why waste any time." She started forward again. Joe moved back. "No. Stay where you are."

"Why?"

"We have to make the deal official." She stopped with her face only inches from Joe's. He could feel her hot breath on his skin. "Just stay still." Slowly, she raised her hands and cupped Joe's cheeks. Joe closed his hands by his sides into fists to keep them from shaking. Carolyn leaned in, then pressed her lips to his.

Joe had never kissed a girl before, only friendly pecks from Mom and Frank and other family. This didn't feel like a kiss. It was cold. Joe only felt numb. Both of their eyes were open. Joe stared into the red depths that made his skin crawl.

_Frank is going to live. Nothing else matters. Frank is going to live._

She pulled back, a little smile on her face. She stroked a thumb along his cheekbone. "How was that, Joe?"

Joe jerked away. "When is it going to happen? Is the cancer gone?"

She nodded. "He'll be waking up any minute. You don't need to thank me." She sighed and put her hands back in her pockets. "Well, congratulations. Enjoy your ten years with your brother. Oh, and I'd rather you not mention this to anyone. This just between you and me. If you tell anyone, well, our deal might have to change." She gave a happy little sigh. "Anyway, I'll be seeing you."

"Wait!"

She quirked her head to the side curiously.

Joe hesitated. "Why did you come to me? Why did you choose us?"

"The people I work for think you and your brother are interesting."

"Who—?"

"That's all I can tell you, sorry." She grinned. "Goodbye, Joe. Have a nice life."

Just like she had before, Carolyn disappeared. This time she didn't reappear. Joe was left alone in the cold hallway.

He wiped his mouth roughly, trying to get rid of the awful, creeping feeling. Everything that had just happened raced through his mind. It had to have been a nightmare. There was no way that girl appeared and did all those things. There was no way that she had done what she promised and made Frank better.

But.

He turned and ran back the way he came. He tore around a doctor and flung open the door to Franks' room.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" Mom was screaming. She and Dad were gathered around Frank's bed.

He was awake.

Joe's met Frank's eyes. A smile spread across Frank's wan face, and all that Joe could do was smile back. He felt the dark weight inside of him. Ten years. But that didn't matter now. All that mattered was that Frank was okay.

**December 2010**

_And you know what happened. The doctors did call it a miracle. No: a remarkable case of spontaneous remission. You were in the Journal of Oncology. They found some way to explain it, I don't remember. All that mattered was that you started getting stronger. Next spring, you went back to school. Looking at you, it was hard to believe it had ever happened. You didn't want to talk about it much, so I didn't, but I know you remembered._

Frank shut his eyes a moment. Of course he remembered that year of hell. Feeling his body fail, being able to do less and less with each passing day, always being in pain. Those last few weeks when he knew he was going to die, but everyone tried to pretend it was all going to be fine. And, there had always been Joe by his side, the only one who could actually keep him happy. When he woke up to see Joe asleep with his head resting on Frank's arm, his rosy face peaceful, breathing softly, those were some of the only times he felt safe.

He turned over the page.

_For a while I tried to convince myself I hadn't made the deal with Carolyn, that I'd been seeing things or it had been a daydream, but the more that people talked about how miraculous your recovery was, I had to trust what I saw. I wanted to tell you what had happened so badly, but I was too scared that you would get sick again. It's the only real lie I've ever kept from you. I'm sorry. That's just one more thing I'm sorry for. Now that the deal is paid, I think that I can finally tell you everything._

_So, I spent the next few years trying to understand what happened and what that girl was. I read books on the occult, from the library, metaphysical shops, online. I read a ton of websites, almost of all of them BS. But, eventually I did find some of the answers._

_Demons are real. Hell is real. So are a lot of other things we thought weren't: ghosts, vampires, something called a shapeshifter. I was afraid of the day we'd come across a case, and I thought it involved one of them. Luckily, it never did. I don't know how I would have kept the lie up then. I don't know a lot about what demons are. They were created by Lucifer (also real, a fallen angel—angels are real too, so much crazy shit is real). When they're on Earth, they have to possess a Vessel, a human being they take over. They can be expelled by an exorcism. Carolyn was a Crossroads Demon. Normally people summon them to have a wish granted in exchange for their soul. Sometimes they'll come to people without being summoned, like with me, for some reason of their own. I still don't know why she chose me. I don't what's "interesting" about us to demons._

_I found a lot of this information in one book. It's the diaries of a man from the early 1800s who hunted these monsters. I built a false back to the bottom shelf of my bookshelf to hide it._

He imagined the bookcase in his mind. He knew as soon as he finished the letter he would run to it.

_You deserve to have the same information that I had. Maybe it'll help you in the future. Maybe it will help you understand._

_When I write this, there's a week left. I've started seeing things and hearing things. I'm hearing growling and snarling, when no one else can. Sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I'll see a huge, black dog with red eyes. I think these are Hellhounds. They're servants of demons, and I think they'll be the ones to come for me when my ten years are up._

_I can hear one now._

Joe had been so jumpy. He'd been tired. Sometimes Frank had seen him start suddenly or phase out. When Frank asked, he smiled and said that nothing was wrong. Now, he knew that behind that smile Joe was seeing and hearing horrible things. Even while his head was reeling with everything Joe told him, the idea that he sat there and did nothing while his brother was suffering felt like a punch to the gut.

_When I know the time is coming, I'm going to drive my car off of the bluff and smash it, so my death will look like an accident. I don't want it to seem strange._

_I guess you can't really tell Mom and Dad and Aunt Gertrude how much I love them. They know that though, right? I want them to know that I'm grateful for every day I had with them. I hope that they can be okay someday. Iola. Chet, Tony, Phil, Callie, Biff, Nancy, Ned. They're all the best friends I could have. They didn't deserve to have me as a friend, when I knew I was going to leave them soon._

_Frank. I can tell you, though. I love you. You're my brother and my best friend. You're the best man I ever knew. You're brilliant and kind. You see things clearly when no one else does. I've seen you with people on the worst day of of their lives, and they were comforted, because you were there. You always could make me feel safe. When we were in trouble, when I actually thought that Carolyn had gone back on her deal, all that mattered was that I was with you. I'm so lucky that I had you as a brother. I'm so lucky that I had someone like you in my life, no matter how long it was for._

_I understand now why what I did was selfish. I just wanted you to be okay. I couldn't imagine losing you. When I was eight, ten years seemed like forever. Dying was better than watching you die. I didn't think about that fact the deal meant that you would be the one who had to see me die. I was putting you through the pain I would rather die than go through myself. I didn't think about it when I made the deal. I would have done anything to save you. If she had said I had to die in that hallway, I would have done it. Now, I know that if I was you and you were me, I wouldn't have wanted you to take the deal. I'm pretty sure that's how you feel too_

_I can't change it now. All that I can do is try to tell you not to blame yourself. I know that's what you're doing. Stop it. Right now. Cut it out, bro. I've told you: I did what I did for me. I want you to live your life. I want you to be happy. You should keep taking cases. Get the degrees that you wanted. Start Hardy Investigations. That's all that's important to me—that you're happy. My life mattered because it had you in it. It doesn't matter how long or how short it was._

_I love you, Frank. I'm sorry I had to leave you. You're best brother anyone could have._

_Love,_

_Joe._

Frank stared at the paper. His hands were shaking. He flipped through the papers and the envelope, like there was something he'd missed that would make this make sense. He leaned over the desk and pushed his fingers through his hair, breathing deeply.

Joe wasn't the sort of person to believe in things like he'd written about. He was more open-minded, or at least less outwardly skeptical, to the paranormal. But, that didn't mean he was fantasy-prone. Frank was a rational person, both of them were. If he'd read this from anyone else, the logical conclusion would have been that the writer was suffering from a delusion. But, he knew who Joe was. He knew how intellectually rigorous Joe was in his investigations. Joe's first conclusion also would have been that he was delusional. He would have investigated that thoroughly. He wouldn't have written Frank that letter, unless he was sure. And if Joe was sure...

He jumped out of the chair and raced to Joe's room. Closing the door behind him, he went right to the bookshelf and started tearing away Joe's books: college-level criminology textbooks, _Harry Potter_, the _Oz_ series, _His Dark Materials_, the books that they'd read together and bonded over since they were children. The back of this rung of the shelf was slightly more forward than the others. He ran his hands over the wood, looking for a catch. His fingernail found a small indentation on one side. His heart was pounding in his throat, as he pulled out his pocketknife. After a few seconds of prying, he managed to pop the wood slat out of place. He pulled the board out, revealing a large, leather-bound book propped against the real shelf back.

He dragged the heavy book out and into his lap. On the cover was carved a pentagram in a circle, surrounded by other symbols Frank couldn't understand, inlaid in metal_._ He carefully flipped through the pages, stopping on the first one with writing in a careful, formal hand.

_The Diary of Eldon Call, Hunter: 1813-1850_

He noticed a piece of notebook paper sticking out of the book about an inch into the book. He opened the book to the marked place and read the word _Crossroads_ on the paper in Joe's handwriting. Hearing his breath rasping in his ears, Frank began reading.

**1:31 AM, One Week Later**

The snow was hard packed. It crunched under his boots like shattered glass. He had to dig hard with the trowel to break through to the dirt underneath. It took a minute to for him to dig a hole deep enough. His heavy breath hung in pale clouds.

Frank wiped the snow and dirt off of his hands, as he got slowly to his feet. He looked down each of the four roads leading away from him, half-buried under snow. He waited, silently, shivering slightly through his jacket. The near-full moon shown wanly through the gray clouds. The only noise was a distant mockingbird.

"Come on," Frank whispered, barely audible.

The mockingbird stopped.

"Hello, Frank."

He tensed, but stopped himself from whirling around. He took a deep breath, then turned to face the source of the low voice.

A man in a dark coat and suit stood in the middle of the crossroads. Frank didn't know what he'd been expecting, this man wasn't it. He had brown, receding hair and a stubbly beard. At the same time, the small, smug smile sent a shudder crawling up Frank's back worse than from the cold.

He swallowed. "Are you here to make the deal?" At least his voice was more even than he worried it would be.

"Could be." He sauntered forward, his eyes locked on Frank's. Frank was surprised to see that he was several inches taller than the demon. Still, when the man stopped, Frank had to control the urge to step back. The demon looked him up and down, like Frank was a slab of meat he was appraising. He held out his hand. "Name's Crowley. Happy to make your acquaintance," He spoke with an indistinct English accent.

Frank glanced at the hand, but didn't take it. "You know who I am already. I came here to make a deal."

Crowley raised his eyebrows, expression unconcerned. "All right. All business. I can respect that. I'm sure we're both busy men." His tone was as sly and sardonic as the smile. "Tell me what you want. Your heart's deepest desire."

"I want my brother back." The words were wrenched out of him, and he couldn't hide the desperation in his voice

Crowley's smirk grew. "Of course," he said. "Same thing poor Joey asked for ten years ago."

Frank's hands balled in fists. "You killed him."

"He made his choice. He knew exactly what was going to happen."

"He was a child." Frank's voice was rising, and he struggled to control it.

"But here you are, a full grown man doing the exact same thing."

There was nothing Frank could say to that. Yes, he was making the same foolish choice Joe had made at eight years old. He was nineteen and, unlike Joe, he'd had time to think about it. But, in the end, he was still the same frightened, desperate child. He'd come to the same stupid, selfish decision, and it seemed like there hadn't been any choice at all.

Crowley gave a small chuckle. He looked at Frank like he had him completely figured out. Frank worried that that was true. "You want me to break Little Joe's deal. I've got to tell you, that's generally not good business for us. We don't want you buying time playing back-and-forth with each others souls."

Frank tried to suppress the panic threatening to well up in his chest. "Will you do it or not?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't. I think there might be something in this for both of us." He started walking to walk around him. Frank kept his eyes forward, trying not to let his fear show. "You understand, I won't be able to make you the exact same deal. I can't wait another ten years without either of you boys in my pocket."

"What do you want from me?" He could feel the demon's eyes on his back, making the hairs on his neck stand on end.

"Agreeable," he mused. "Isn't that a nice change of pace." He stepped in front of Frank's face again, and his expression was more serious, though there was still a sneer in his eyes. "I'll give you one year. One year to say your goodbyes, set your affairs in order, and spend some time with baby brother. Joe will live a long, full life. Though I suppose he might be upset that you undid what he gave up his life for."

Of course, he'd thought about that. He knew that was what he was doing, and he knew that it was wrong. And here he was: Frank Hardy, the logical one, the one who made the careful decisions. Here he was making a deal with a demon.

"Okay. Okay. But, I don't want him to come back with everyone knowing he died. I don't want him to never be able to see anyone again. I want him to have his old life back."

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "That's a pretty tall order, Frank. You want me to bring this boy back to life and make everyone else believe they didn't bury him. "

"Can you do it?" Frank insisted.

Crowley held out his palms in a pacifying gesture. "Hold on. I think we've glossed over how quickly you agreed to give up your soul for someone else when you'd only get to see him for one more year. You know, you two are exactly what I thought you would be. So devoted you can't see farther than each others faces. Always good to see such lovingly, devotedly, irrationally, _unchristianly_ close brothers."

"Do we have a deal or not ?" Frank's voice almost cracked. His fingernails dug into his palms.

"I said hold on. You're in luck. You've hit me at something of a boom time. I can pull together the resources, call in a few favors, make that dream come true. How does this sound: everyone involved will believe that Joe was knocked into, let's say, a coma, which he's been in for the last month. And now, he'll wake up none the worse for wear. Well, maybe a tad bruised up for effect. When your family and friends and doctors try to remember, it'll feel a little odd, a little fuzzy, but they'll have no need to question, when all the evidence is to the contrary. Of course, except for you and him. You'll remember crystal clear every moment. Though, that might not be such a blessing. I can have this all go into effect... what is it, one o'clock? How about noon tomorrow. You just go to the hospital, ask for Joe Hardy at the desk, and you'll be reunited. For one year."

_Noon tomorrow. Noon tomorrow he'll wake up. Noon._

"He'll be fine?" Frank pressed. "He'll be alive and safe, and none of you will bother him?"

"As long as he doesn't make any trouble for us, we'd have no reason to give him any." He pointed a finger at Frank, eyebrows raised. "I mentioned, I don't want you two to just keep trading souls. No one under my employ will ever make a deal with Joe for your life. You have one year. No breaking the deal, no way out. We have an appointment, and you'll keep it." His eyes were dark. They didn't need to change color for Frank to see there was nothing human about them.

"I don't care," he said. He winced immediately, knowing he'd showed his hand too much. But, then it seemed like Crowley already knew everything about him. At least, he knew just how far Frank would go to save Joe. Frank was kidding himself that he was anything else but begging with his face in the dirt. "Just bring him back."

Crowley nodded. "Understood. All the reports were true: another pair of bosom brothers."

"You keep saying that. Why? Why are you so interested in me and Joe? Why did you go after him ten years ago?"

"Ten years ago: that was more or less just standard recruitment. Since then, we've kept an eye on you two, and you've started to remind me of another pair of brothers I once knew. Who gave me some trouble. I'm making a point of learning from my mistakes. Heading off any problems at the pass. Now." he bobbed up on his toes and down again and smiled. "Do we have a deal?"

Frank's breath felt heavy in his chest. He swallowed, then nodded. "Yes."

"Good." He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Frank knew what was coming. He had to control the urge to move away. "Ready, darling?"

Crowley leaned in. The kiss wasn't businesslike, like Frank had expected. It was slow, gentle, deliberate, almost like it was meant to be romantic. It still made Frank's skin crawl. The one thought remained echoing in his mind. _He's going to come back. Noon tomorrow. He'll be okay. He'll be safe. Tomorrow._

Three seconds passed, then, finally, Crowley pulled away. The meager moonlight reflected in his dark eyes. "There," he said, voice a low rumble. He smiled. "Baby brother will be alive and well. You've got one year. Enjoy it." He raised one hand in a wave. "Be seeing you, Frank."

Frank blinked. In a half-second, he was left alone. The smug, mocking smile was still printed in his mind's eye. He was left staring down the empty road, framed by bare, icy trees. The mockingbird started up with a high, trilling cry.

His legs were trembling. He let himself fall to his knees in the brittle snow. Cold air ran over him, stinging his bare skin.

He, Frank Hardy, had made a deal with a devil. Hell existed, and it was coming for him.

"Noon," he whispered. "In the hospital. Noon." He paused and steadied his shaking hands. "He's going to be okay."

**12:00 PM**

Air rushed into Joe's lungs. His eyes opened, and all that he could see was white. He started to scream, but nothing came out. He struggled for breath.

"Joe." There was a hand on his and another on his forehead, gently holding him down. "Joe."

He knew that voice. He'd always know that voice.

"You're okay."

He turned his head. The blurry, still familiar, face began to fall into focus.

Frank held his hand tight. "You're safe. I've got you."

"Frank," he tried to say, but couldn't manage a sound. His heart swelled. He could feel tears starting to sting his eyes. _Frank. Frank!_ He was here. He was holding his brother's hand again. Of course he was safe, of course it was going to all be all right. He had his brother. As long as they were together, everything was all right.

But... That didn't make sense. The ten years were up. There was no way he was still here, alive, with Frank. No way, unless something had gone wrong.

Frank gave the smallest smile, as he stroked Joe's forehead. "Shh. It's all right. I've got you." He leaned over the bed Joe was lying in and wrapped him in a hug, their cheeks pressed together. Joe tried to hold him back, but his arms felt like lead.

"Frank." His voice came out as a weak, small sound. "What... what's going on? Where am I?" His eyes traveled around the white room and then down his own body. He was laying in a narrow bed, covered in a white blanket. He felt the IV in his arm, the tubes in his nose. He heard the beat of the heart monitor, moving fast. Frank sat in a chair off to the side, leaning over him. His stomach fell. He wasn't supposed to be in a hospital. He _couldn't_ be in a hospital.

"I'm sorry," Frank whispered.

"Why am I here?"

"I'm so, so sorry, Joe."

"Frank," he breathed.

Frank's hands were shaking. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do."

"You made a deal." Frank nodded, not meeting Joe's eyes. "Frank, why?"

"I told you. I..." He looked back up, and Joe could see the pain in his soft brown eyes. "I couldn't let you be dead."

For several seconds, neither of them spoke. The beeping of the heart monitor was steadier. They could hear nurses bustling around outside of the door and muffled voices over the speakers. Frank slowly brushed hair off of Joe's forehead.

"How long?"

"One year."

He wanted to be angry. He'd told Frank just how sorry he was for doing this to him, and Frank had gone out and done the same thing. He had his brother back, but in one year, he was going to lose him again forever. And the idea of spending the rest of his life alone was as painful and incomprehensible as it had been when he was eight years old. A part of him wanted to hate Frank for doing this to him.

But, then, he knew exactly how Frank had felt. If Carolyn had come to him when he was eighteen with the same offer, he probably would have still taken it. He couldn't blame Frank. They were both stuck in the same crazy, confusing, codependent relationship Joe knew was wrong, but wouldn't never want to be free of.

He reached over with his free hand and held Frank's. "What happened?" he asked.

Frank swallowed. "I found out how to summon a demon in the diaries. I went to a crossroad and met with a demon named Crowley. He changed things so that everyone thinks you survived the accident and you've been in the hospital in a coma for three weeks. It's December 15th," he added.

"Mom and Dad..."

"I said I'd watch you while they went to the cafeteria. I wanted to be the only one here when you woke up."

Joe nodded. He looked at their tangled hands. "He offered you one year, not ten."

"He said he didn't want us 'trading souls back and forth.' He also said that none of the demons would let you make another deal. We're done."

"At least, I guess you don't have to worry about me sneaking behind your back to do the same dumb thing again." He managed a genuine smile. Frank returned it. If Joe could ignore the tears blurring his brother's eyes, it almost felt like they were back to normal.

"Yeah. Guess neither of us is good at learning from our mistakes."

"Seriously." He let out a breathy laugh. "Mom and Dad must have seriously messed up somewhere raising us," he agreed. He was quiet for a moment. Something in his head clicked. It was like the fog cleared. "So, what are we going to do?" he said, his pulse running hard.

Frank looked confused a moment, and then, in a second, Joe saw the same change on his face. He blinked. When his eyes opened, they were clear again. "We can't make any deals. That's probably a benefit. That won't get us anywhere. There was something Crowley said: that we reminded him of another pair of brothers who had caused him trouble in the past. That might be something."

"Maybe. It can't hurt to know something about anyone who tried to take on Hell, win or lose." He sat up straighter. "When I met Carolyn, she said that the people she worked for—well, I guess not people—thought that we were interesting. Which means, probably, they thought we could cause him trouble too. Which, yeah, that's exactly what we want to do. And, y'know, with the two of us working together, we'll be able to find out a lot more than I did on my own."

"We've got one year to figure out something," Frank said, looking steadily into Joe's eyes.

Joe nodded. "Yeah. Another case for the Hardy Boys. And we've never left a case unsolved yet."

Frank nodded back. He hesitated a moment, then his smile faltered. "I'm sorry, Joe."

Joe shook his head. "Just stop right there. Don't do that to yourself. I don't blame you, Frank. Whatever's messed up with us, I don't think we can help it."

"Maybe." Frank's hand moved under his, so his palm was facing up. Their fingers knitted together. "I love you, Joe," he said, his voice quiet but steady.

Joe reached his arm up around Frank's back, pulling him down into a hug "Yeah, you too."

Frank leaned down and held him. He pressed his forehead to the crook of Joe's neck. Joe felt his brother's chest rise and fall slowly. His mind drifted. He remembered when they'd traded shifts sleeping on stakeouts, curled up on the car seat or a hotel room bed. Laying in bed with Frank when he was sick. When they were captured and tied up and the only comfort that they had was the warmth of each others bodies and the knowledge that they were still together. When Frank was with him, it was hard to believe that everything wouldn't be okay. Together, they could take on the world. Nothing could stop them, not demons, not the whole of Hell itself.

He tightened his grip on Frank's corduroy jacket.

Several seconds passed, before they heard the door open. "Oh, my gosh! You're awake!"

Frank jerked away from Joe, and they both looked up. A nurse stood in the doorway with a shocked expression. "I'll get the doctor," she said, voice overjoyed. She hurried back down the hallway.

Frank looked back down at Joe with a smile.

Joe grinned back. "Looks like we're going to have another medical miracle under our belts."

"Shouldn't be a surprise. Everybody already says we're stupid lucky."

A great thought jumped into Joe's head. "Oh, man, Mom and Dad are going to so happy. Everyone."

Frank nodded. "I didn't get to see it, but I can guess how worried they were thinking you were like this. Even Dad might cry when he sees you awake." His expression grew softer, as he stroked back Joe's hair. "We can do this."

Joe nodded. "Yeah." He grabbed Frank's arm and held it tight. "We can do this."

One year. One year and one more case for the Hardy Boys. And just let anyone try to stop them.

They heard footsteps running towards the room, but for a little while longer just looked into each others faces and all that mattered, whatever had happened or was going to happened, was this moment, together.


End file.
